Errands, Details, Phonecalls, Shoes

Endless list of stuff to do before the funeral tomorrow. I bought new black shoes, dropped off my son's pants at the tailor to be hemmed, returned a zillion kind phone calls, went by the church to check on when the flower arrangements could be delivered, haircuts for me and my son, made sure my husband's suit is ready. All a blur to keep you from the matter at hand. When we slow down by Saturday, we'll be sad. Had the oddest thought today, since this is my dad's funeral somehow my mom should be here. He was there for her funeral, only seemed fair. Your mind gets a little off kilter in these post-death days..

At the cleaners, I asked the tailor, an older Italian lady, if we could get my 6-year old's pants hemmed and cleaned by tomorrow, she said no. Then I said calmly, "well, it's for a funeral and I need them by tomorrow, so if you can't do it, it's okay, I'll just check on another tailor." I tried to take the pants back from her and she snatches them away from me. "Funeral?! We do it." She would not let go of them.

I said, "thank you, great, see you tomorrow." and left. In the car, I suddenly realized that she thought I was BURYING a six-year-old boy in those pants. I shuddered and called them back to explain it was my dad who had died and these were his grandson's pants. She was relieved. I couldn't imagine her spending her day sewing the pants of a boy who had died — how's that for sad.

BTW, we're not burying anyone, we're cremating my dad. I came across this amazing poem today while reading something completely unrelated.

Cremation

It nearly cancels my fear of death,
my dearest said,
When I think of cremation. To rot in
the earth
Is a loathsome end, but to roar up in
flame — besides I am used to it.
I have flamed with love or fury so
often in my life
No wonder my body is tired, no
wonder it is dying.
We had great joy of my body.
Scatter the ashes.

— Robinson Jeffers